


Strings

by WildnessBecomesYou



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: (sort of), A little bit of comfort, Angst, Child Abuse, Dissociation, F/F, PTSD, Sleep Paralysis, mentions of sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26910496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Gwendolyn loves puppet shows; Mildred does not understand why.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SBWomenofMarvel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBWomenofMarvel/gifts).



> In all honesty, I had to be in a Very Special Headspace to write this and, uh, I'm pretty sure I only got there because of Sarah Paulson's portrayal of Marcia Clark. 
> 
> Oof.
> 
> If you experience dissociation/sleep paralysis/night terrors on the reg, please consider reaching out to a counselor or therapist. I'm sending you love <3

Mildred Ratched needs to be in control. 

This is something she knows about herself, no matter how much she begrudges it; she needs to be in control, because that is how she stays safe. It is, in fact, the _only_ way she stays safe. 

It is bad to not be in control, but it is worse when someone else is pulling her strings. 

She supposes this may be why she hates puppet shows so much. The physical evidence of lack of control is maddening, and the idea that she may be someone else’s marionette makes her head spin and the air go thin. 

Then, of course, there is the memory. 

The eyes were the worst part.

She thinks that, if the eyes hadn’t been on her, she could have scraped together bits of dignity. She could have survived without a shattered soul, scars that sit beneath the skin and hurt more than any wound ever has or ever will. If it had just been Edmund, she could have withstood it. She would have understood it. She could have risen above, parted herself from him, had her vengeance. 

But the eyes haunt her. 

She will never forget the way it feels to be watched. The way eyes scrape over her skin like little razors, leaving tiny tracks on her flesh. The way nothing of her is left to mystery, to question, to privacy. 

She hates being watched. She hates the glassy, dark look in the eyes of watchers. She hates the way they resemble little marbles, little black buttons. 

She spends hours snipping threads and replacing closures on blouses, skirts, coats, shoes. Anything that could remind her. 

Gwendolyn does not watch her. Not in the same way. 

Gwendolyn’s eyes are soft, and they glance off her skin, search her eyes instead. Gwendolyn’s words are soft, precious little gifts and requests. Gwendolyn’s eyes are blue, like the sky, like the ocean. Like places where she can hide. 

Gwendolyn loves puppets. Mildred does not understand why. 

She says she thinks the scenes are cute. She makes references to childhood, and Mildred cannot remember any instance of joy, even if Gwendolyn holds her hand and guides her to the right scenes. She is unbothered by the strings controlling the marionettes, does not see the lack of control for the characters, does not discourage the cheers and boos and jeers. 

Mildred cannot understand why, but Gwendolyn can see that it bothers her. 

“You don’t need to come with me,” she murmurs, backtracking on earlier ultimatums. She says it with guilt and Mildred can’t identify where the guilt comes from. 

“I want to,” Mildred says, and they both know it’s a lie. It always has been, and probably always will be. “It’ll be fun.” 

For Gwendolyn, it will be. 

Mildred lets herself shut down. She stares at her hands, tries to let her own heartbeat drown out the sound of laughter and fake crying. She rasps breaths in and out until she’s not in her body. 

She slips away. 

“Mildred?”

Her body looks towards blue eyes and red-gold hair. Her body blinks for her. 

“Mildred, the show’s ended. Are you ready to go?”

Her body nods for her. 

They leave, and the car ride home is silent. Gwendolyn doesn’t push; she never does, not when Mildred really needs the space. Mildred walks upstairs when they arrive home, dresses for bed in a warm flannel sleep suit that belongs to Gwendolyn. She slips under the covers and wraps them around her, cocooning herself in the sheets, staring at the ceiling. 

Her body cries. Her mind has not caught up. 

“Mildred,” Gwendolyn murmurs when she joins her in bed, “it might be a good idea for you to take a shower.” 

“No,” her body says. Her head won’t turn. A demon sits on her chest, crawls down her body and smiles at her with sharp teeth. His claws dig into her skin until all her muscles burn and she wishes the flesh would just crumble away to ash. 

Gwendolyn takes a moment to respond. “I don’t think you need to come with me to these anymore,” she says eventually. 

“I can handle it,” Mildred protests. The demon shakes his head and tuts at her. Lying is rude. 

“No, you can’t,” Gwendolyn sighs, and Mildred snaps back into her body. 

All of it hurts. Her bones weigh too much. She is so very weary. 

“And that’s okay,” Gwendolyn smiles. She’s sitting on the bed, legs tucked up under her, smiling gently at Mildred. “It’s alright. I don’t need you to go with me.”

“No, you like it, I’ll go,” Mildred insists, her arms still trapped. She struggles against the blankets around her, starts to panic as they only seem to tighten. 

She stills when Gwendolyn’s hand lands on her shoulder. “I don’t like seeing you like this.” Mildred looks away and Gwendolyn reaches for her chin, pulling her back to look into Gwendolyn’s eyes. 

Blue, like the ocean, like the sky, like safety. 

“I understand,” Gwendolyn says, “that awful things happened to you. I know pupp— that these shows remind you of those times. And the _last_ — and I really do mean that, Mildred, the _last_ — thing I want to do is send you reeling back into that time.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mildred responds. Stubbornly. To make her own choices. 

“You haven’t been fine for hours, Mildred,” Gwendolyn breathes, and Mildred can see the tears in her eyes. When she blinks and shakes her head, a few roll down her cheek. “Do you know how long we’ve been home?”

“An hour?” 

It’s a guess, and from Gwendolyn’s scoff she knows she’s wrong. “Three hours and forty-five minutes.” She glances at a clock. “Fifty.” 

“Oh.”

There’s silence between them. 

“I could still be okay.” 

“No, you’re not,” Gwendolyn says, laying herself down next to Mildred. She doesn’t reach out to touch and Mildred is grateful. “You’re not okay, and you come before some silly puppet show to me.” 

Mildred inhales sharply. She’s not sure anyone has ever said anything like that before. Not to her, at least— she’s never mattered this much. 

Not even to Edmund. 

In the end, he’d been saving himself, and punishing her for not waiting. 

“Get some rest,” Gwendolyn murmurs, turning the lamp off. “And…”

She hears the hesitation in the dark, words hanging over them like a fog. 

“And if you need me, I’m here.”

Mildred can feel her lips twitch. “I always need you,” she whispers. 

Gwendolyn’s breath shuffles in and out. Mildred thinks she may be crying. 

She hopes the demon hasn’t crawled over the woman who’s cut her strings.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed. Let me know in the comments <3


End file.
